


Adventures in Buckysitting

by onvavoir



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Dom/sub Play, Gen, Platonic Female/Male Relationships, Sub Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-24
Updated: 2016-07-24
Packaged: 2018-07-26 08:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7567534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onvavoir/pseuds/onvavoir
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve asks Sharon to look after Bucky while he's away on a mission. Sharon and Bucky don't think this is really necessary, but they discover something in his absence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Adventures in Buckysitting

"I need to ask a favour," Steve says, which is always the best way to begin both a sentence and a conversation.

Sharon raises an eyebrow at him over her coffee. Steve doesn't like asking anyone for favours, even little things, so whatever this is, it must be important.

"Yes?"

"I have to go on a mission."

She sips her coffee and waits for him to elaborate. Steve has no pets, no fish, not even a houseplant.

"I'm gonna be gone three weeks," he says. "I was wondering if you'd be able-- willing-- to, uh…

"… Buckysit."

Steve laughs, a sudden burst of light that breaks up his sad puppy demeanour.

"Yeah, I guess you could call it that. I mean, he doesn't need round the clock care, just… somebody to look in on him every so often. Make sure he's eating."

She doesn't say what she's thinking, which is that Bucky is a grown man who can probably look after himself-- given that he did just that for two years without Steve's assistance. Steve is and will always be a mess where Bucky's concerned. He means well, but if he were really honest with himself he'd admit that his worrying is much more about him than it is about Bucky.

Her guess is that, of all the people Steve knows who have experience with… this sort of thing, she's one of the ones that Bucky has the least baggage with. His relationship with Sam is improving but still fraught with hot spots of aggression and guilt. Natasha's going on the mission with Steve. Wanda's too young, and Clint Barton should not be trusted with the care of anything more delicate than a pet rock. Sharon's willing to bet that Steve considered hiring someone to do it but doesn't want to leave Bucky in the hands of a stranger. Or maybe Bucky said no.

"Bucky _does_ know about this, right? Because I'm not doing anything unless Bucky agrees to it."

Steve's lips flatten into what Sharon privately calls his Mom Face.

"Okay."

Bucky thinks Steve's being an asshole, but Bucky also tends to go several days without leaving the house and forgets to eat until he's dizzy from hunger. Begrudgingly, he agrees that it's okay for Sharon to look in on him, which gets negotiated up to Sharon sleeping in Steve's gigantic bed while he's gone. Bucky sulks, but he accepts the arrangement. Sharon takes three weeks off her consulting gig and goes to stay with Bucky. It'll be like a vacation, she thinks, only not fun and instead of Mickey Mouse it's the Winter Soldier.

She's not surprised that Bucky is nowhere to be seen when she drops by with her stuff. She has no real idea how he feels about her, except it must be somewhat positive or he never would have agreed to this. Bucky does not do things that Bucky does not want to do. Not that she can blame him. After decades of being a puppet, it's understandable that he'd take issue with anyone telling him what to do. She's not really sure why Steve thinks he should be an exception. He may be Bucky's oldest friend, but she's seen photos of young Alexander Pierce. There's no way he was chosen to be the Soldier's handler without any thought given to his all-American blond good looks. It makes her skin crawl.

She has Bucky's number, so she could text him and ask him where he is, but even the most casual question is likely to be interpreted as surveillance. She could probably find him herself, given enough time on Steve's laptop. If Bucky knows that Steve has several programs designed to hack and sift through CCTV footage, he hasn't said anything. She can't imagine how he can't, though. Steve's about as subtle as a freight train.

When Bucky comes in close to dusk, Sharon's on the sofa reading a book. She waits a couple of seconds, turns a page, and then says, "Hi Bucky" without looking up from the book. He mumbles a response and moves towards his room. He stops. Sharon looks up from her book.

"You know I don't need a babysitter, right?" he says.

She sighs.

" _I_ know that, and _you_ know that. But ask yourself: would you rather have me here, or would you rather answer a hundred worried texts from Steve every day?"

He scrunches up his mouth in something that approximates a smile.

"Good point."

Sharon smiles back at him and then looks back down at her book. She watches him in her peripheral vision. He hesitates, then sits down on the other end of the sofa with the remote. He props his feet up on the coffee table. She knows Steve tells him not to do that at least six times a day, but Steve isn't here. She's reasonably sure he's glancing at her to gauge her reaction, so she doesn't give him one.

*

The first time she tells him _good boy_ , it's a little joke. He's been irascible in Steve's absence, and it's been difficult for Sharon to work out whether it's because he misses Steve, because he dislikes her, because he's jealous of her, or a combination of all three. He's holed up in bed in his room, possibly naked under the covers and Sharon isn't about to investigate. She doesn't plead or argue, just sits on the end of the bed. Bucky stares out the window as if she's not there.

"Tell you what," she says, evenly, without the kind of fake cheer that makes her want to puke. "If you get up, I'll make you breakfast. Whatever you want. And if you don't, that's okay too. You decide."

She gets up and closes his bedroom door behind her. In the kitchen, she puts on coffee and pokes around in the fridge for something to eat. Promising Bucky breakfast has got her motivated to do more than just eat a bowl of cereal or some yogurt. There's fruit from the farmer's market, fresh peaches and a couple of avocados-- not bananas, because Steve and Bucky have A 40s Thing about bananas that she doesn't ask about and frankly doesn't want to know about. She stands up straight and jumps-- Bucky is standing _right there_ , utterly silent. It's a good thing for him she isn't carrying her baton.

"Sorry," he mumbles. "Didn't mean to scare you."

He doesn't quite meet her eyes. He never does.

"It's okay," she says, and means it. "What do you want to eat?"

He chews at his lip and thinks about it. It's hard to tell if he's genuinely thinking, or if he's coming up with requests and dismissing them as too demanding.

"Bucky?"

"Pancakes?" he asks.

The hesitation in his voice makes her heart hurt a little. When was the last time anyone asked him what he wanted? She smiles.

"Pancakes it is. You want fruit with them, or…"

She's not sure if giving him a list of possibilities is more helpful than leaving the question open, but it's early, and she hasn't had her damn coffee yet. She gets out the eggs, milk, butter, and shuts the fridge while he thinks. Flour from the canister on the kitchen counter. Steve is neat in a way that constantly surprises her, the way her mother was. A place for everything and everything in its place. It's kind of charming, until she leaves a fork in the sink and gets a Captain America Speech. She's pretty sure he knows exactly how much she hates those.

"Maple syrup?" Bucky says, slowly.

"If there's any in here, you can have as much as you want."

She opens the fridge again-- there's a glass bottle of some expensive kind of maple syrup in the door. Steve has peculiar foodie tendencies, and he'll go through phases where all he buys is artisan organic locally grown hipster stuff. At least he doesn't know about kombucha yet. She picks up the bottle, indicates it to Bucky, and then pauses.

"How much do you eat?" she asks.

Steve will consume a literal stack of pancakes, which is why he doesn't usually let her cook breakfast-- or anything else, for that matter. He feels guilty about anyone cooking that much food just for him. It's one of his more endearing idiotic qualities. Sharon's not sure if Bucky has quite the same metabolism. He frowns a little, as if he's not sure. Maybe he isn't.

"As much as Steve, not quite as much?" she offers.

"Almost as much."

She nods. Four cups of flour, then. Sugar, a little cinnamon and allspice, baking powder, and a little vanilla extract. Bucky stands where he is and watches her. She looks up at him.

"You can sit down, you know. If you want."

His eyebrows pull together a little, as if he's trying to remember something and can't quite retrieve it. His lip is caught between his teeth again. She gets to work on the pancakes and leaves him to decide. The coffee finishes brewing, and when she turns around to ask if he wants some, he's sat at the table, staring out the window. She blinks.

"Do you want some coffee?" He frowns again, deeper. "Maybe not?"

She pours herself a cup and sips it, turns on the radio so that the kitchen isn't quite so awkwardly silent. Steve likes to listen to NPR in the mornings. Sharon thinks of it as the anti-coffee, but the quiet babble can be soothing.

"Listen to whatever you like," she says. "As long as you do the dishes."

Sharon hates washing dishes, especially after cooking. She glances at Bucky, who nods. She's just getting used to the milquetoast patter of NPR when static cuts in, and she jumps a little. Bucky tunes through the stations slowly, as if it takes him some time to process what's playing on each one. Classical, hip-hop, oldies, top forty, and then finally he settles on what sounds like a 70s and 80s rock station. This amuses her for some reason. Queen is fanfaring about the merits of fat-bottomed girls when she serves Bucky the first plate of pancakes, stacked six high because she knows from experience that any more than that will be structurally unsound and difficult to eat. She sets down silverware, syrup, butter, and as an afterthought, a glass of water.

"Aren't you gonna eat?" he asks.

"In a minute. Go ahead and get started."

She reaches past him to get a couple of peaches out of the fruit bowl, cuts them up in between pancake flips and tosses them into a bowl. She can't help glancing back at Bucky every so often to see if he's eating. He is, although with a mechanical slowness that makes her wonder what Hydra fed him-- if anything. She completes another sextet of pancakes and sets the stack on the table, in case Bucky wants to help himself. She notices the glass of water is mostly empty now. Debates the potential for mayhem if she reaches for it. Oh hell. He's not a pitbull, he's a human being. She picks up the glass, refills it, and sets it back down. She notices he's started on stack number two and smiles. Steve will be glad he's eating.

Sharon sets a pitcher of water on the table, the carafe of coffee, an empty mug if Bucky wants it, the bowl of peach slices, and sits down to eat herself. She drags three pancakes from the top of the stack and tops them with peach slices, in a neat flower-shaped formation. She can sense him watching her, but she doesn't want to make him feel weird. She shoves a forkful of pancake and peach into her mouth. She picks up the carafe.

"Oo wassa cahee?" she says, talking with her mouth full.

Bucky smiles at her. It makes the melancholy in his face disperse a little. He doesn't pretend to be offended by her bad table manners the way that Steve sometimes does. He just pushes his mug towards her, and she fills it. If he wants sugar and milk he'll have to get them himself, by damn. He doesn't seem to need them. He drinks his coffee and eats his pancakes, leaving two on the plate presumably for politeness's sake. Sharon finishes off her own plate and shoves it away from her.

"They're all yours, I'm stuffed."

Only then does he flip the last two pancakes onto his plate. He pours himself another glass of water and then hesitates, like he's trying to remember something. He looks at her.

"Oh."

She pushes her own water glass towards him, and he fills it.

"They say you should drink eight glasses of water a day," she says.

Of all the absurd, pointless things to say. What is she, a dietitian? She shakes her head.

"Personally, I think it's bullshit."

Bucky laughs. It's just a little snort of breath, but it catches her by surprise all the same. She pushes the bowl with the last three or four peach slices in it towards him.

"You want these?"

He shrugs and adds them to his plate. She suspects it's more of a post-Depression refusal to waste than anything else, but she can't help watching as he cuts one up with surprising delicacy. He spears a wedge of pancake and one of the pieces of peach and stuffs it into his mouth. His face changes. For a second she worries that he's just discovered that he hates peaches, but he keeps chewing, looking thoughtful.

"This is nice," he says.

She smiles.

"Makes me feel a little less like I'm eating cake for breakfast."

Not that she's ever done that. Bucky frowns a little.

"These are really good."

Her smile widens. Maybe he's trying to remember manners. If that's the case, she doesn't want to embarrass him by pointing it out. She sips her coffee and slouches in her chair a little, overfull. It's a matter of time before the carb coma sets in, but she doesn't want to just get up and leave him to it. She's not sure he'd actually remember to do the dishes.

"Thank you," he says quietly.

He keeps his eyes on his plate.

"You're welcome," Sharon says. "And like I said, _you're_ doing the dishes, so you've got the hard job."

She's half-joking, but he nods again. When he finishes his breakfast, he stands up and starts to clear the table. Sharon bites down on the deeply socialised urge to tell him it's fine, she'll take care of it, and finishes off her second cup of coffee. Bucky puts the dishes in the sink and starts to fill it.

"Oh," Sharon says, thinking about the metal arm. "There are gloves under the sink if you want."

He opens the cupboard door under the sink and takes them out. Fortunately they're Steve-sized, so they fit on Bucky's hands with no problem. She takes a second to appreciate the sight of Bucky wearing green kitchen gloves and washing the dishes. All he needs is an apron. She'd take a photo for Steve if she wasn't sure it would spook Bucky and possibly send him scurrying back to his room. Instead she watches him work, not out of concern that he doesn't know how to wash a dish, but more because it's so rare for her to see him in motion. A lock of hair falls into his face, and he blows it back. Then another. Bucky frowns and tosses his head.

Sharon can sense him watching her as she leaves the kitchen. She goes into Steve's room and sifts through the jumble of things atop the dresser that Steve "affectionately" refers to as Sharon's Mess. She grabs a hair tie and goes back into the kitchen, holds it out to him. He looks at her with his eyebrows pulled in again.

"For your hair? If it's bothering you?"

Suddenly she feels absurd, and she wishes she hadn't done it. Bucky looks from the hair tie to his gloved and soapy hands and then back at her. Ah. Stepping carefully around him, telegraphing her movements, she pulls as much of his hair up as she can and ties it back. It's actually kind of an appealing look, even if it's obviously been a few days since he washed his hair. He turns back to the sink, then hesitates. He frowns again in a way she's starting to realise is a Remembering way.

"Thank you," he says.

"It's no problem. I know I hate having _my_ hair in my face when I'm trying to do something."

He looks at her hair as if to remind himself of what it looks like.

"Your hair's pretty."

A millisecond later, he blushes and closes up again, turns back to the dishes.

"Your hair's pretty too," Sharon says. "Especially now that you've discovered conditioner."

He glances at her with a half smile, and she's suddenly struck by the awful idea that he might have a crush on her. She dismisses it. She's not a psychiatrist, but she's fairly sure that if that were the case, he'd simply never come out of his room when she was around. She feels a little squirm of guilt for even thinking it. She decides to wipe down the table as a distraction. In Steve's absence she's bought a roll of paper towels, which are strictly verboten in the house otherwise. Goddamn Depression-era principles. If Bucky has a similar issue with the extravagant waste, he doesn't say so. He finishes with the dishes and mops up around the sink with a rag, wipes down the countertop as well. Sharon puts her hands on her hips. Now what?

She catches him looking at her.

"What?"

There's the faintest trace of a smile, but it's brittle this time, as if it hurts.

"I can tell you're related to Peggy Carter," he says.

She's struck, both by the compliment and by the renewed awareness that Bucky _knew_ her. He knew Peggy when she was young and still wore red lipstick, before the silver in her hair and the cruel illness that took her own memories from her. Sharon wants to ask him what she was like. She's already interrogated Steve about everything there is to know about pre-Cold War Peggy Carter. She knows it makes Steve uncomfortable, either because of her relationship with him or because of the horrible memory of how it all ended for them. Bucky probably doesn't have those concerns. Bucky would probably be a little more honest about what a pain in the ass she must have been.

"Dishes are done," Bucky says, and she snaps out of her reverie.

Was she staring? She hopes not. She pats him on the head.

"Good boy."

He stiffens a little then, and she can see a muscle in his jaw clench. He doesn't say anything, so if she's stepped into a Bucky Barnes bear trap she won't know until she asks Steve. He looks down at the sink. When he speaks, it's barely audible.

"Thank you."

Now it's her turn to frown in confusion.

"For what?"

He shrugs a little and then moves past her with surprising grace and alarming speed, into the bathroom to shut the door. What was that all about? Was it her teasing _good boy_? She thinks about behaviourism and classical conditioning, dogs and bells, and shudders.

*

A couple of days later, Sharon can't be bothered with dinner and decides to order delivery. The problem, she realises, is how to ask Bucky what he wants without making it into an amateur production of It's Your Life and Your Decision (lyrics by Steve Rogers). She picks up a menu from a Chinese place down the street and studies it openly. One must be sly when attempting to suborn Bucky. Then she suddenly thinks, _a wild Bucky appeared!_ and nearly falls over laughing. She has to cover her face with the menu until she recovers from the silent hysterics. She glances at Bucky. He looks, as usual, moderately confused. She clears her throat.

"Sorry. Just thought of something funny."

Steve would ask _what is it?_ and no matter how many times Sharon says _it's nothing, it's really not that funny_ he'd keep asking until she told him, and then he'd get this expression on his face that looks a lot like the one Bucky's wearing.

"I was thinking of ordering delivery," she says, casual. "You want anything?"

She hands him the menu and hopes he won't just shake his head no. He's got his hair tied back again, and if she's not mistaken it's been recently washed. He hesitates. Sharon keeps talking to keep him engaged.

"This place does a great shrimp with vegetables. Their wonton soup's pretty good too. Steve says the _ma po_ tofu is great, but frankly, I don't understand why tofu is even a thing people eat, and his judgment is questionable at the best of times."

She's babbling a little, but Bucky doesn't seem to mind. He's looking over the menu with an even deeper frown now. She gives him an expectant look.

"Bucky?"

His face reddens a little. Sharon cocks her head to one side. She resists the urge to ask something inane like _you okay?_ because Bucky is obviously not okay ever, but it's hard to gauge exactly what the issue is without asking.

"We could get pizza instead, if you want?" she offers.

Maybe Bucky doesn't like Chinese food. How would she even know? And why didn't Steve give her a damn list of Things Bucky Is Weird About? His mouth contracts a little. It's almost as if he's embarrassed about something.

"Okay, I know this is annoying, but I have to ask: what's wrong?"

He sighs.

"I don't know what any of these things are. They're not actual Chinese food."

Her face goes slack. Not liking Chinese food had occurred to her as a possibility, but not the idea that he might never have had the western approximation of it. He spent two years kicking around Europe, but would he have had an inclination to eat Chinese food there? She has a sneaking suspicion that the Chinese food in Eastern Europe might not be the greatest.

"Well," she says. "Shrimp with vegetables is pretty self-explanatory, I think. The chili peppers are the hot ones. Umm, lo mein is soft noodles, chow mein is crunchy noodles."

"Egg drop soup?"

She shrugs.

"It's… egg. In a soup. Kinda like drinking scrambled eggs-- but it's good!"

He looks dubious. She can't blame him. She didn't exactly make it sound enticing.

"This is translated wrong," he says, pointing at something.

Now it's Sharon's turn to frown.

"You read Chinese?"

"Only Mandarin."

Sharon wants to be impressed, but she knows he didn't learn Mandarin at the local community college. He gets that thousand yard stare, and she points at something on the menu to distract him from whatever awful thing he's remembering.

"Crispy duck? It's… crispy? And a duck?"

He looks askance at her with a little smirk.

"Thanks," he says dryly.

"Well, you want to decide so I can call them, or would you rather sit here and proofread the menu?"

He quirks an eyebrow, then seems to realise she's teasing him.

"I don't know? Just get whatever. I'll eat it."

She sighs and takes the menu back. It's better than him saying he's not hungry. She calls and orders enough food for four people, which should be just about enough for one normal person and one super soldier. She adds wonton and egg drop soup to the order and then hangs up. She considers suggesting a movie and then spends several minutes trying to determine which ones aren't likely to trigger him. She turns on the TV. Steve has a comprehensive cable package, for all that he complains about a million channels and nothin' worth watching on any of 'em, and Sharon pokes through the movie listings. She grins.

"How do you feel about Despicable Me?"

"What?"

It occurs to her too late that Bucky might not understand that particular arrangement of words.

"It's a movie. Despicable Me. It's animated?"

She doesn't mention that it's about a villain being redeemed, but she does think the theme is appropriate. Bucky shrugs. _Do you have any opinions about anything?_ she wants to ask. She'd almost relish an argument about what to watch. Spending so much time around someone who's so-- _compliant_ , she thinks, and the penny drops. Of course. After seventy years of brainwashing and torture, Bucky's first instinct probably isn't to disagree with someone. She drops the remote in his lap.

"You pick."

She gets up to go to the bathroom and then putters around in the kitchen.

"Do you want some tea?" she calls.

Silence. Is he deeply engrossed in the movie selection, or is he just not responding. She puts the kettle on and comes back out. Bucky's selected Despicable Me. She should have seen that coming. She moves closer to the sofa, leans over. He turns to look in her direction.

"Tea?" she asks.

He frowns, and she suddenly realises why. If he says yes to tea, she'll ask him what kind he wants, does he take milk or sugar, how strong, and anticipating that [barrage] of questions is making his brain jam up. There's a scientific word for it, she's sure, but she can't think of what it is. He's not used to having choices. He's also not used to interacting with people beyond very specific contexts. The combination of person he doesn't know well and too many choices is making it difficult for him to think. She pops back into the kitchen and starts making tea for both of them, black tea, hers with sugar and milk, like Aunt Peggy took it, and Bucky's plain. She brings the two mugs into the living room and sets the plain one down in front of Bucky. He blinks at it for a moment and then picks it up and takes a drink. Another moment, another little microexpression.

"Thank you," he says, remembering his manners.

"You're welcome. You can go ahead and start it. I've seen this before."

She pretends to have something to do in Steve's bedroom, tidies up the Ikea bookcase that's groaning under the weight of Steve's non-fiction habit. He likes reading lengthy biographies, so the bookcase is crammed with thick tomes on history and political figures and topics she thinks of as somehow inherently Steve-ish. The latest one is on his bedside table, a massive biography of Alexander Hamilton that Steve picked up because of that show.

It doesn't occur to her until she hears the movie start that she was waiting to hear the movie start. She's not testing Bucky so much as… encouraging him. She's a little worried that trading dependence on Hydra for dependence on Steve is going to interfere with Bucky's ability to take care of himself. Then she thinks that's hardly fair, he spent two years alone. He doesn't need Steve's incessant mothering and worrying. But then, no one does, and that doesn't stop him doing it.

What must it be like, living with your best friend from a hundred years ago, knowing you tried to kill him? Bucky didn't want to move in with him, but Steve insisted, pleaded with him and said it was for his own selfish sake that he wanted Bucky there. Sharon's reasonably sure that Bucky could survive just fine on his own, like he did in Europe, but she also knows better than to bring that topic up ever, in any context, for any reason. It's Steve's big red button, marked BUCKY, and god help anyone who pushes it. She's also reasonably sure that Steve's obsession with Bucky has to do with him being the last shred of Steve's old life. Even if he isn't that Bucky anymore, he's someone who remembers Steve when he was a skinny little guy. Somehow that seems important to him.

When she returns to the sofa and her now perfect cup of tea, Gru has just hit on his plan to adopt the girls and use them as cover. Bucky's watching, actually watching, and what's more, he has a smile on his face. Sharon smiles herself and curls up with her tea. Both mugs are empty by the time the delivery guy shows up, and she's surprised when Bucky picks them up and takes them into the kitchen. She can hear him washing them as she helps the poor guy carry in the usual truckload of food. She tips him generously. When Bucky comes back to the living room, the coffee table is covered with cardboard containers. The soups slosh in their plastic tubs as she takes them out and sets them down with everything else. Bucky looks a little overwhelmed. He sits down on the sofa and looks over the spread.

"Forks," Sharon says to no one in particular.

She retrieves a pair of forks and a pair of soup spoons from the kitchen and sets them down on the table, opens up a carton of General Tso's chicken and scoops it onto a paper plate. She gives Bucky a sly sidewise glance and hands him his own paper plate. She really cannot be bothered with dishes tonight.

"I won't tell if you won't," she says.

Bucky mimes zipping his lips. The ordinariness of it makes her laugh. She can see now what might have attracted people to him. He's got a sense of humour, and there are moments he'll drop a dry deadpan comment that from anyone else would be tedious, but coming from Bucky makes her laugh.

They both eat from all different containers, a few bites of this, a spoonful of that. She'd started doing it so as to encourage Bucky to try everything, but it's kind of nice to eat a variety of dishes instead of just overstuffing with a single one.

"'S good," Bucky says, mouth full, pointing with his chopsticks at the container of lo mein in front of him.

It doesn't surprise her that he's good with a pair of chopsticks. Very little about Bucky would surprise her. She nods. _Bucky likes lo mein_ , her notes to Steve will say. She can't text him while he's away on his mission, but she's been making notes when Bucky's not around, just little things. _Bucky thinks Spongebob is horrifying_. _Bucky does not like avocados_. He's objectively wrong about the latter, but it just means more avocados for Sharon. She starts to think of it as a bizarre children's book. _Bucky likes to read. Bucky does not like to read biographies_. _Bucky likes pancakes. Bucky is a former assassin who keeps at least two knives on him at all times_.

She didn't actually write that last one down. Steve probably already knows about Bucky's defenses, and anyway it's not as if she feels she's in danger. Some people have security blankets; Bucky has knives. Sharon has a .22 in a spring loaded holster next to her bed.

There are surprisingly few leftovers, and Bucky takes those into the kitchen to consolidate them. Again, Sharon watches him do this, says nothing, but notices the way he's performing little acts of human consideration. Not because he's afraid of some horrible punishment, but because it's the sort of thing people do. She pauses the movie while he's doing this-- it doesn't seem to have occurred to him that he can do that-- and then starts it again when he sits back down on the sofa with a puff of air that is the universal human cypher for 'oof ate too much.' Sharon can relate.

When the movie ends, she waits to see if he'll pick something else, or if he'll hand the remote back to her. He does neither. He stares at the TV as the credits roll, but he looks like he's thinking. Sharon opts not to intrude. She stretches and looks at the clock. Too early for bed, but too late to start another movie. Instead she pokes around the other bookcase and pulls out _The Big Sleep_ , one of the few pieces of fiction Steve seems to really like. It's probably because it was written before his own personal ice age, even if he'd never gotten to read it back then. It occurs to her, midway through the first page.

"Have you read any Raymond Chandler?" she asks.

He shakes his head. Sharon holds out the book. She's read it once before anyway, and she's interested to see what he'd make of it, being from that time period and all. He looks at her uncertainly, and she waggles the book hand.

"I've read it before, if that's what you're worried about. Steve really likes them."

He takes it from her, slowly, as if he's not sure whether he'll be punished for doing so. Sharon gets up and goes back to the bookshelf under the pretence of choosing something else. She watches Bucky out of the corner of her eye. He snorts, and she looks over at him.

"Funny," he says, as if he's surprised.

"Oh yeah, he's a very funny writer."

She tries not to watch him, but it does ease her mind a little to hear him snorting and snickering while he reads. She goes to bed feeling inordinately pleased with herself.

*

The next day the book is lying on the coffee table. There's no bookmark in it, no string or receipt, which is what Steve usually ends up using instead of a bookmark. She watches it as if it's an animal that might suddenly wake up and scurry around. When Bucky appears, bleary and sleep-wrinkled, she picks it up.

"Here's your book," she says, holding it out.

Bucky yawns profoundly.

"Finished it."

Sharon blinks.

"Already?"

He shrugs.

"I read fast."

He averts his eyes and skulks into the bathroom. Sharon puts the book back on the shelf. There are a few more Chandler novels, but Bucky knows where to find them, if he's interested. She looks at her watch. Steve said that Bucky was a late sleeper, but she hasn't seen him get up after 9am. Maybe what Steve takes for sleep is actually Bucky avoiding him. Or being depressed. God knows what kind of trauma he's been through. Sharon's frankly surprised that he's as well-adjusted as he is, and she doesn't think he's remotely as well-adjusted as Steve wants to believe.

She goes into the kitchen and pours herself a bowl of cereal, leaves the box on the counter. Bucky will often just eat whatever she's eaten for breakfast rather than try to decide on his own. She doesn't comment on it; at least he's eating. She sits down at the kitchen table to eat her cereal and idly look over the newspaper. Steve insists that newspapers are vital to society, so he subscribes, and then he spends the whole morning griping about 'what passes for news' and asking her if she's heard about the latest outrage. Sharon does the crossword puzzle and ignores the rest of it. She's working on it when Bucky comes into the kitchen. She listens to him take down a bowl and pour himself some cereal, and then he sits down at the table with her.

"What's the birthstone for October?" she asks. "Four letters."

It's on the tip of her tongue. She'll remember it given enough time, but it's as much about engaging Bucky as it is about the puzzle. He shrugs.

"How the hell should I know?"

Sharon snorts. She looks over at him, and her jaw drops. Bucky's shaved, for perhaps the first time in weeks. Maybe months. His hair's tied back, just washed. He looks a little like she imagines he must have looked back in the day, which is to say, absurdly handsome.

"Oh. Wow."

"What?"

"You're very handsome," she tells him.

He averts his eyes. His face turns a fetching shade of pink, and he drops his gaze to the floor. There's a hint of a smile, though. She turns her attention back to the crossword while he finishes his breakfast. No need to embarrass him further. Her notes to Steve for today will include BUCKY SHAVED!!??!! When he finishes his cereal, he stands, and then his metal hand appears in her peripheral vision. She looks up. He's reaching out for her empty cereal bowl, which is still sat in front of her with bits of cereal drying out in it.

"Oh! Thanks."

She hands it off. Bucky washes up and then stands behind her, and it takes a minute to realise that he's looking at the puzzle over her shoulder.

"Turmeric," he says, and then he walks out of the kitchen.

Sharon frowns, then looks down at the puzzle. Nine across: orange Indian spice. Turmeric. She writes it down in neat capital letters and smiles. She gets up to stretch her legs and wanders into the living room. Bucky's put on a hoodie for some reason, and he's tucked into himself into the corner of the sofa as if to be as small as possible. She hopes her compliment isn't the reason for it. She plops down on the opposite end of the sofa. Taps the pencil to her lips.

"Opal," she says. Bucky blinks and looks at her. She points at the puzzle. "October birthstone."

"I'll try to remember that."

Snarky little son of a bitch. She finishes off the puzzle and offers him the rest of the newspaper. He shakes his head, hands stuffed in the pocket of his hoodie. No, Bucky probably wouldn't care much for reading the news. She tosses it onto the coffee table and yawns. She should go for a run. Instead she yawns again and turns on the TV.

"No Spongebob, I promise," she tells him.

He eyes her as if he's not sure he believes her. She channel surfs for a while and then comes upon an episode of Charlie's Angels. She can't help but clap with delight.

"I love this show! I used to watch it all the time when I was a girl." When she looks back at Bucky he's still looking at her, but there's a slight smile on his face. "My friends and I used to play Charlie's Angels all the time. I always had to be Kris."

He obviously has no idea what on earth she's talking about, but at least he's not frowning. Sharon shrugs. It doesn't matter. At the next commercial break, she psyches herself up and turns to Bucky.

"You've been doing really good this week," she says, hoping that doesn't sound condescending.

He doesn't say anything, so it's hard to gauge his response. He just looks at her. She thinks about the other day, about him doing the dishes and the way he responded to her teasing praise.

"You've been very good, Bucky," she goes on.

His eyes widen a little. She can tell he's biting at the inside of his lip, although for what reason she isn't sure. Oh god. Is this a sex thing? She hopes not. That would be awkward. Not that Bucky isn't ridiculously pretty, but he's wild pretty, the way that a tiger is. Very beautiful, but not necessarily something you want in your house. Not to mention the whole Steve thing.

She watches the rest of Charlie's Angels and formulates the skeleton of a plan. When the show's over, she turns to Bucky.

"Bucky, would you please take the garbage out?"

He blinks at her, all big blue eyes. It's almost as if he doesn't understand the question, and then he gets up, goes into the kitchen, and empties the trash can. He carries the bag with him to the bathroom and the bedrooms, emptying all the other cans as well, which means he must have seen Steve do this. He leaves the front door ajar and goes down to the dumpster. When he comes back, he shuts the door, locks it, and returns to the kitchen to put a new bag in the bin. She hears him wash his hands, the same way Steve does after he takes out the garbage. She wonders if Steve knows that Bucky knows how to do this. He's mentioned before that he doesn't feel comfortable assigning chores because Bucky can so easily become defensive and snappish. Maybe he just wasn't doing it right. Bucky comes back and sits down. He glances over at her.

"Thank you," she says. He frowns a little. Sharon presses her lips together and corrects herself. "Very good."

He seems to soften a little, and how starved for kind words must he be? Has he been conditioned to need praise? Has he been conditioned to fear kindness? She's on shifty ground now. She might not trigger the Winter Soldier, but she could very well send Bucky running back to his room for the rest of Steve's absence. She bites her lip. Asking outright probably isn't the most elegant way to go about it, but she's not sure how else to find out.

"Bucky," she says. "Do you… like it when I do that?"

He blinks.

"Do what?"

"When I tell you that you've been good."

She can see his Adam's apple rise and fall as he swallows hard. He looks away. He seems to be embarrassed about it, which makes sense if it's a sex thing. She supposes it also makes sense if it's just a Bucky thing. She thinks about how to phrase it in such a way that she can determine which is the case and, if necessary, make an expeditious retreat.

"Does it make you feel better when I tell you to do things?" she asks.

He stares down at his lap, the corners of his mouth turned down.

"Yes."

"Do you want me to do that more often?"

He frowns a little, as if maybe he's thinking about it.

"Yeah."

His voice is raspy, as if his throat is constricted by strong emotion. She can't help but ask.

"This… isn't a sex thing, is it?"

He laughs, explosively, and it releases some of the tension. Then his face goes serious again. He glances in her direction, not quite making eye contact.

"No. I just… like it."

"So if I asked you to go clean the kitchen floor," she says. "Would that work?"

He squints a little as he thinks about it, then shakes his head.

"No, you have to _tell_ me. I don't know why."

She thinks about the dishes again. Right then.

"Bucky, go mop the kitchen floor. Sweep first."

He gives her a sidewise look of scepticism.

"I'm a crazy person, not an idiot."

She lets out a bark of laughter. Then Bucky gets up and goes into the kitchen. When Sharon peeks around the corner a few minutes later, he really is mopping the floor, getting into all the corners and swearing a little at that dark patch on the linoleum that always looks like a stain. He even gets down on his hands and knees to scrub at the more difficult spots. She waits for the floor to be mostly dry and walks in to inspect. Presumably that's what she's supposed to do. Who the hell knows.

Bucky sits on his heels and watches her as she pretends to scrutinise his work. Sharon looks down at him. A few locks of hair have come out of his little bun. She brushes a couple of them back into place, and his eyelashes flutter closed. Again she has to ask herself if this is a sex thing, but it doesn't seem to be. And to be fair, it would probably be pretty obvious if Bucky were somehow getting off on all this. She strokes his hair, and he leans into it like a cat.

"Good boy," she says quietly, afraid that she's somehow horribly misjudged all this and that Bucky will ask just what the fuck she's doing.

But Bucky just sits on the floor and lets out a little sigh.

*

It doesn't get any less weird for Sharon to tell Bucky what to do, although she does become accustomed to it over the course of the next few days. She knocks at his bedroom door and then looks in.

"Time to get up, Bucky."

He's never asleep anyway. She's not sure he really does sleep. Steve certainly doesn't require that much of it, so maybe Bucky's much the same way.

"Yes, ma'am."

He obediently gets out of bed and follows her into the kitchen, where they eat breakfast. Sometimes she phrases it as a request, and other times it's a command, but either way, Bucky washes the dishes and puts them in the rack to dry. Sharon praises him, much in the same way she'd praise a dog for obeying commands. Maybe in some way he's regressing, and it comforts him to follow simple instructions followed by praise, like a small child. She thinks with bemusement of the way she's heard people describe Steve as a labrador retriever (not inaccurate). She's not sure what Bucky would be though. _A wild Bucky appeared!_ crosses her mind again, and she has to suppress a giggle.

"Come, let's sit."

He follows her into the living room, where she sits on the sofa and he sits on the floor at her feet. Sometimes he'll sit cross-legged, sometimes on his knees, sometimes slouched back against the sofa, but always below her, like a pet. It's weird, if she's being completely honest with herself, beyond weird, but it seems harmless enough. If he's feeling particularly bad, he lays his head on her lap and she strokes his hair. It's very soft now. Sometimes she'll take the elastic out and properly run her fingers through it. Bucky closes his eyes and practically purrs. Once, he fell asleep in her lap. She can only assume that's a good thing, given Bucky's history.

The problem, she realises over the course of the next few days, is how the hell she's going to explain this to Steve. How she's going to explain it, and how she's going to explain that she's reasonably sure it won't work if Steve does it. She just has a feeling. She hasn't asked Bucky outright because she doesn't want to trigger anything, but her working theory is that all his handlers were men. Being told what to do by a woman is different for him, appeases the rat in the Skinner box but also steps outside of that charged, masculine relationship. It could be she's just bullshitting herself. Either way, it seems important to him, and his mood's improved a lot since she started doing it.

She thinks it over while she braids his hair. She did it on impulse the other day, expecting him to brush it out, but he didn't. He seemed to like it, although he didn't say so out loud. So she does little mini-braids, fishtails, all the braiding patterns she can remember and that will work in his hair. She kind of wishes they were outside so she could stick some daisies in it. She's not sure he'd go for it, but it _would_ be adorable. But yes. Steve. How to explain this to him in a way that won't seem sexual. For someone with such a shining wholesome reputation, his mind lives in the gutter. Maybe she should ask Bucky, but she doesn't want to upset him. But then, maybe if _Bucky_ explains this to Steve, she won't need to. There's no one Steve's more understanding of than Bucky.

"Bucky…" she says.

"Hm?"

The expression on his face is so placid, she feels guilty in advance for ruining it.

"Has this been really helpful to you? This, with me telling you what to do and then telling you that you've been good?"

God, it sounds so awkward put like that. It _is_ awkward. His face tightens up a little.

"Yeah. It's… I really like it. I don't know why, because I hate people telling me what to do."

"You hate _Steve_ telling you what to do," she suggests.

He thinks about it, then laughs.

"Yeah, I hate Steve telling me what to do. He's so goddamn insufferable. I love him, but…"

"Oh, the number of times I've heard that said about him," she laughs. " _I love the guy but_ …"

Bucky grins.

"He's the sweetest guy in the world, but sometimes I want to fucking punch him."

"Believe me, I know the feeling," Sharon says. "So why is it different for me to do it?"

She hates to press like this, but Steve's due back in a few days, and she's realising as she sits here that she _really_ does not want to explain this to him. Bucky will be able to explain it from his point of view, as a caring method. And Steve _did_ ask her to take care of him. Bucky worries his lip while he thinks.

"Not sure. You're nice."

She can't help but ask.

"Were all of your… handlers… were they all men?"

He blinks, frowns, thinks about it.

"… yeah, they were. How did you know?"

"Call it a hunch. Anyway, sorry, I interrupted you."

It takes him a few moments of thinking to continue.

"I think it's…"

He hesitates, and Sharon's not sure if that's because he's thinking or because he doesn't want to say what's on his mind.

"You know you can tell me, Bucky."

He sighs. She tilts her head to look down at him and notices that his eyes are bright.

"It's… I don't… I know you won't hurt me. Even by accident."

Those six words pierce her to the bone. She stops her braiding for a second, and Bucky looks up at her.

"Did I say something wrong?" he asks, his voice small.

"No, honey," she says, resuming. "It was just… very sad to hear."

He snorts.

"Story of my fuckin' life."

There's a long silence in which Sharon doesn't feel compelled to say anything and doesn't feel compelled to prod Bucky to say anything, either. It's hard to tell whether his thinking is helpful or whether he's tying himself in anxious knots, but she thinks at present it's the former.

"There's nothing wrong with it," he says, sounding more than a little defensive. "It's not a sexy thing. I mean, not that you're not-- christ, I sound like Steve now. What the fuck has my life become?"

She flicks his ear.

"Don't be dramatic. There's only room for one drama queen in this house, and he'll be returning soon."

Bucky laughs.

"That's what's funny-- shit that's actually serious he brushes off like it's nothing. But god forbid you leave your fuckin' shoes in the living room."

"Or a fork in the sink!"

Not that she's at all salty about that conversation, not Sharon, not one bit.

"We should ask if he got the stick removed from his ass while he was gone," Bucky says, and then they both lose it.

*

Sharon's on the sofa watching Fringe on Netflix when she hears the jangle of keys. Bucky's come out of his room with a light jacket on. She glances at him, at the clock-- 8:47pm-- and then returns her attention to the show. He dithers next to the door, obviously accustomed to Steve giving him the third degree. Sharon couldn't care less where he's going or what he's doing. She looks up at him. He jerks a thumb at the door.

"I'm… going out," he mumbles.

"Okay. See you later."

She turns back to the TV. Bucky's still standing there. Sharon looks back at him.

"Uh… don't get into any trouble?"

*

It's late, in the small hours, when Sharon wakes suddenly. The reason is clear enough: Bucky is standing at the end of Steve's bed.

"You know that's creepy, right?"

He doesn't respond. His eyes are wide in the dark, and he's worrying his lip the way he sometimes does when he wants something but doesn't want to ask for it.

"Sorry," he says.

Her capacity for cognition wakes up, a few seconds late, and she looks more closely at him.

"Did you have a nightmare?"

He nods, pale. Steve had mentioned this might be an issue, and he told her in no uncertain terms that if she wasn't comfortable with Bucky climbing into bed with her, she should say so, and Bucky would respect that. She got the feeling at the time that it wasn't so much about Bucky as Steve, but she kept that to herself.

"Do you need company?" she asks.

He nods again. She gives it a second of thought and then sighs, shifts over.

"All right, come on. But if you steal the covers, I'm kicking you out."

"Steve's the one who does that," Bucky grumbles.

He gets into bed, under the covers. It's not as awkward as it could be, since he's wearing a t-shirt and pyjama pants, though she does wonder if he put them on before he came in here. In any case, she appreciates it. Bucky settles in and curls up on his side, facing away from her. She lies back. Bucky lifts his head and looks over his shoulder at her. Oh. Steve didn't mention that Bucky prefers to be the little spoon, but Sharon is so charmed by the idea that she doesn't think about how weird it is. She shuffles over and presses herself against Bucky's broad back, arm slung over his waist. He's as tall as Steve, and thicker. It's a bit like cuddling a bear.

"My god, you're enormous," she says.

Bucky snorts.

"Sorry," Sharon murmurs. "I didn't mean it as a bad thing. Do you feel better?"

Rustling of bedclothes as he nods. The unevenness of his breathing betrays how close to tears he is. Sharon reaches up to stroke his hair. He relaxes minutely.

"You're so good, Bucky. You're good. Very good."

She can hear him swallow. She gives him a squeeze before she puts down her head again and goes back to sleep.

*

Sharon's on the sofa, reading with her bare feet propped up on Bucky's shoulder while Bucky reads his own book on the floor. Periodically she'll scritch at his neck with a toe, which either makes him squirm and giggle or lean into it, depending on whether she's found a ticklish spot. The door unlocks, and they both look up as Steve appears, two days earlier than expected. He raises an eyebrow and pauses in the doorway, bag slung over his shoulder, shield on his back.

"This guy looks like trouble," Bucky says, getting up. "You want I should throw him out, miss?"

Sharon pretends to give the thought some consideration.

"Nah, he's pretty, let him stay."

Steve's eyes roll upward as he shuts the door.

"So this is what I come home to-- you two have ganged up on me?"

He's smiling, but he looks very tired.

"Leave me out of your filthy fantasies, Rogers," Bucky says. "I'm not that kind of girl."

Sharon happens to be drinking from the can of orange soda they were sharing, which goes from her mouth to her nose and burns unpleasantly. She looks down at her white blouse, which now has a very modern art splash of orange on it.

"Goddammit Bucky," she says, wiping her mouth.

He looks unrepentant. She gets up and goes to the bathroom, half to see if she can get the orange soda off her shirt and half to leave Steve and Bucky alone for a minute in the hope that this weirdness will sort itself out. The door's open, so she can hear the worry in Steve's voice as she tries to rinse orange soda out of her blouse. It's a good thing for Bucky that she's wearing a tank top underneath.

"No, she's been really helpful, actually," she hears Bucky say.

The orange spots on the shirt are lighter but still very much there. She pauses to look at the care instructions. Dry clean only. Oops?

"You're a dead man, Barnes!" she calls from the bathroom.

She hears Steve say _uh-oh_ in a tone of genuine concern. She pokes her head out of the doorway and pretends to glare at Bucky.

"Orange soda. All over my shirt."

To his credit, he does look apologetic. She pops back into the bathroom and leaves the shirt in the sink in the hope that soaking it will get more of the orange soda out. When she walks back into the living room, Steve's looking at Bucky with his _can you believe this guy?_ face while Bucky speaks.

"So anyway, I'm trading you in for Sharon. She's nicer than you and doesn't give me shit about leaving my shoes in the living room."

Steve raises an eyebrow at her, amused. She raises both of hers.

"I see how it is," Steve says. "I leave you alone with him for two weeks, and now I'm _persona non grata_ in my own goddamn house. Honestly. You people are the worst."

Sharon's not sure if Bucky's actually told him the actual truth, so she shrugs.

"Careful what you wish for, I guess."

Bucky smirks at him. Steve sighs.

"But seriously, what is it?" he asks.

Sharon doesn't pick up what Bucky says at first.

"… what?" Steve asks.

He squints in confusion.

"Would it be okay for Sharon to stick around?" Bucky repeats.

She's not sure if the look on his face is genuine or an act, but his eyes are big and round. Steve's eyebrows draw together. He looks over at Sharon, who still has no idea what to say.

"What, like, stay a few extra days?" Steve asks.

Bucky breathes in and then sighs it out. Scratches the back of his head.

"It's hard to explain."

"So explain it."

He looks on the cusp of being angry, like he's waiting to be informed of just why he's about to be pissed off.

"It's not a sex thing!" Sharon says, and then immediately regrets it.

"God no!" Bucky says.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Okay. Well. Will someone please tell me what the hell is going on?"

"Sharon tells me what to do," Bucky says.

Steve squints in puzzlement.

"That's really all it is. She tells me what to do, so I do it. It… makes me feel better."

"Comforting?" Sharon offers.

Steve looks over at her. He doesn't look any less confused, but it looks like a different type of confusion. And the edge of anger is gone.

"Steve, sit down," she says.

He gawks at her for a second but then does so.

"Bucky, sit down."

Bucky joins him on the sofa, but his attention is firmly fixed on Sharon.

"On the _floor_ , Bucky."

"Yes, ma'am."

He gets up and sits down on the floor, cross-legged, between them. Steve cocks his head, and Sharon thinks again of a labrador retriever. Only it's Bucky being the obedient one. It's Bucky being a good boy. She reaches out to touch his hair and ruffle it.

"Good boy."

The smile he gives her is radiant. She looks over at Steve. He's got one eyebrow raised. He takes a breath.

"You know what? That is _far_ from being the weirdest thing I've ever seen."

*

They go to the park the next day. Bucky lies on the grass with his head in Sharon's lap, and Steve does an admirable job of pretending not to be jealous. As a peace offering, Sharon makes a crown of daisies when she finishes braiding and flowering Bucky's hair and drops it, askance, on Steve's head.

"You look like a Disney princess," Bucky says, and he snaps a photo of Steve before he lifts the flower crown off his hair.

He sets it back down and settles it into his blond hair a little, looking haughty.

" _Now_ I look like a Disney princess."


End file.
